


Downward Spiral

by bakedgoldfish



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-09
Updated: 2004-01-09
Packaged: 2019-05-15 06:03:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14784881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakedgoldfish/pseuds/bakedgoldfish
Summary: AU post 2nd season





	1. Downward Spiral

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Downward Spiral**

**by:** Baked Goldfish 

**Character(s):** Leo  
 **Rating:** TEEN for content  
**Summary:** AU post 2nd season  


Day One, Part  
One

Josh looked around the large conference room. "Your... blue room," he said, waving his arms about slightly while gazing at the pastel blue walls.

Sam pointed at one of the paintings and asked, "Who's gonna ride *your* wild horses?"

"One," Josh corrected, indicating that there was only one wild horse in the painting Sam was referring to.

The door opened, and they both turned to see who it was.

"Bono, Edge, c'mere," ordered Leo McGarry, bracing his hands against the doorframe and leaning slightly into the room.

Josh and Sam exchanged slightly surprised glances before following their boss out of the room.

"You know U2, Leo?" Sam inquired.

"Love 'em," the chief of staff quickly answer.

"That's pretty bizarre," Sam commented. "In fact, that's bordering on, on cosmic bizarredom."

Ignoring the cosmic bizarredom of Sam's latest catchphrase, McGarry retorted, "It's not."

"No, it is," Josh stated. "You're you. It's... surprising."

Shrugging his shoulders, Leo never broke step or turned to face them. "How is that so surprising?"

"I'm just sayin', Leo," Josh answered. "When the President asked you if you knew Charlie Brown, you said, 'I know there was a dog'."

He grimaced slightly. "Is that ever gonna drop?"

"Not likely, Cheeseman," Josh replied.

Leo stopped abruptly and turned to glare at his deputy. "The hell was that?"

"I was... trying something new?"

"Drop it. Now."

"Ahkay."

He started walking again. "I got a job for you two."

"Is this a punishment for the cheese thing, 'cause I gotta point out, that was Josh, not me," Sam piped up.

"It's not punishment," McGarry said, glancing at Seaborn. "For *that*, at any rate," he added under his breath. "By the way, what were you two doing in there, anyhow?"

"It's a game," Sam offered helpfully. "Where you speak only in song titles."

"A game?"

"Yeah."

"You do realize, this is the White House."

"We were bored," Josh supplied.

Again, Leo stopped, and turned to face the two younger men; incredulity was spray-painted all across his face. "You were--we're in the middle of a grand jury inves-" He cut himself off with an exasperated sigh. "You want me to give you children something to do?" Leo growled sarcastically.

"I thought you already were," Sam said brightly as they started walking again.

"Oh. Yeah, that's right... " He trailed off thoughtfully as they entered his office. "Siddown, both of you," he stated, waving at the seats in front of his desk as he rounded to his own seat.

"So, what's up?" Josh asked perkily.

"You're meeting with Senator Maddock today," Leo stated, making notes on a sheet of paper.

"From Michigan?"

"Yeah," he replied. "He's asking for an addition to the family advocacy bill."

Josh stared at him, confused. "What *kind* of addition? I mean, we covered all the bases, didn't we... "

Shrugging, Leo put down the pen and looked up at him. "Dunno. That's why you're meeting with him."

Running a hand through his wild hair, the deputy chief sighed, "Are you sure we need his vote, anyway? I mean-"

"I'm sure we need his vote, Josh, because with his vote goes the vote of fourteen other senators after him. Besides, what else would you be doing?" he asked, exasperatedly.

"Playing the song game," he answered with a pout.

"Out!" McGarry ordered, waving him away. "I'm talking to Tonto now, I don't need you."

Sam glanced back and forth between Josh, walking out the door, and Leo, straightening some papers. "Wait, how did *I* become Tonto?"

"Would you rather be Silver?"

He thought about it for a moment. "I'll take Tonto, thanks."

Leo handed him the sheaf of papers. "We actually got support."

"Support? On what?" Sam asked, flipping through the pages in his hands.

"On the MS. He's been invited to speak at a dinner hosted by the," and here he paused to glance at his notes, "International Multiple Sclerosis Support Foundation."

"Wow."

"What?"

He regarded his boss with slightly confused, worried eyes. "I'd almost forgotten that other people have MS."

"I know," Leo said softly, meeting eyes with the younger man. Then his voice returned to normal, and he leaned back into his chair casually. "We need the speech the day after tomorrow by ten in the morning. That's when he's leaving for Air Force One. All the information on the dinner's in your hands, there."

"Okay," he said lightly, getting up to leave. "Anything else?"

"Nah, you can go. I've gotta find the Maddock memo for Josh." He got out of his chair and started searching his desk as Sam left, shutting the door behind him. After a few moments of searching and reorganizing, Leo sighed and walked to the filing cabinet with a misplaced folder in hand.

"Margaret!"

The redheaded secretary appeared in the doorway. "You bellowed?"

"Do you have the Maddock memo?" Leo asked as he filed away the manila folder.

Walking up behind her boss, she said, "You know, I was watching this show with Ted Danson."

"Uh-huh," he replied absently, pulling another folder out of the cabinet.

"It's called 'Becker'. He's got a Margaret, too."

He crossed over to his desk. "Really."

"He screams at his Margaret, just like you do," she added.

McGarry glanced up at her. "*His* Margaret?"

"Mm-hmm," she answered with a nod.

"That so."

"Yes. Also, he's just as ornery as you are," she said, walking to him.

"Margaret."

"Yeah?"

"Look at my face." He pointed to his face, and waited for her reaction.

She blinked twice. "I'll go get the Maddock memo for you."

"That'd be nice," he replied, turning his full attention to her. He waited impatiently for her return, and snatched the manila folder from her grasp when she handed it to him.

"And people wonder why I love my work so much," she muttered sarcastically.

"Go away," he bellowed, waving her away as he moved to his desk. Gathering up some more papers from his desk, a thought struck him. He paused, stood upright, and looked at Margaret's door again.

"Margaret?"

She appeared in the doorway, smirking. "You've got a ten-thirty with Congressman Newsinger, an eleven with Mr. O'Malley from the GDC, and at one you've got Secretary Jackson," she stated, her voice sweetly snide.

"Thank you," he mumbled contritely as she turned and left. He sauntered out of his office, and walked the file over to Josh, not wanting to face his gloating secretary again in the near future.

{**********}

"Donna!"

"What is it about the men who work here that they have to scream for their assistants?" she asked, scowling slightly in Josh's doorway with her arms crossed over her chest.

"What on earth are you talking about now?"

"It's just that all the men bellow, or yell, or roar for us when you need something. You, Leo, Toby, the President, even. Only one who doesn't is Sam," she explained.

"That's because Sam's afraid of Cathy, listen, I need for you to get me something," he stated, still scanning over the report in his hand.

She stared at him for a moment, waiting for him to continue. "Would that something be a clairvoyant assistant? Because, right now-"

"I need for you to get me a copy of the family advocacy bill," he stated absently. "Full text, and I need for you to get me two of 'em. I'm gonna need your help on this one."

"Oh my God," she stated, startled.

"What?" he asked instantly, looking up at her.

"The Great One has admitted that he needs my help," she said, hiding her smirk behind her hands, feigning shock. Off his sarcastic look, she chuckled and said, "I'll go get them. And I'll stock up on highlighters and post-its, too." With that, she left in search of the two copies.

"Thanks," he murmured absently, already absorbed again in the document. "What the hell would this guy want to add? We covered, like, everything... " He put the summary of the bill down and rubbed his eyes, looking up as someone knocked on his door. "Yeah?"

Sam poked his head in the door. "You busy?"

"Just reading this summary," Josh answered. "We didn't miss anything in this bill."

"Then what does Maddock want to add?" the somewhat younger man asked, perplexed.

Shrugging, he answered, "Hell if I know." He ran a hand through his hair tiredly and asked, "So, what's up?"

"Not much. Got a speech to write," he replied brightly.

"Really? What for?"

"The International MS Support Foundation," he answered, carefully enunciating every word. "For the day after tomorrow."

Josh regarded him curiously, a smirk slowly growing on his lips. "How much've you written?"

"Well, I've got a basic gist of the--there's the outline, really, and I've got to polish it, of course--nothing." He stared at Josh matter-of-factly.

The smirk became an all-out grin at this point. "Writer's block?"

"It's not funny!" Sam whined.

"I'm not laughing," Josh stated with a chuckle. "It's for the day after tomorrow?"

"By ten," he said, nodding and pouting slightly.

"Well... what're you gonna do?"

"I don't know," Sam answered truthfully. "Can I bug you?"

"Whoa, whoa, no," he replied, scooting back in his chair and holding his hands up in defense. "I've got this... thing. I'm meeting with Senator Maddock in an hour and a half, and I got no idea what he wants. What's Toby up to?"

"Grand jury," he said softly.

"Oh." Josh stared at his desk for a moment, eyes lost in thought. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"Um." He chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. "How about CJ?"

Sam visibly brightened at this prospect. "I could go bug her," he said perkily.

"Go, then, bug away," Josh said supportively. As Sam walked down the hallway, he yelled after him, "Bring back any cool stories!"

"Okay," Sam yelled back over his shoulder. Turning face-front again, he mumbled, "CJ, CJ, I'll go bug CJ... "

"You shall not, I say, you shall not bug CJ," CJ stated as she came up beside him. "What's up, Spanky?"

"First Tonto, now Spanky," he mused, walking with her towards her office. "I'm on a roll."

"I thought you were Robin," she said.

"That too... "

"You still haven't answered my question," she stated.

He glanced at her. "Your question?"

"Yeah," CJ replied. "The one where I asked, 'what's up'."

"Ah," he said with a short nod as they entered her office. "Well, I've got a speech to write."

"For the International MS Support Foundation, right," she said knowingly, moving to sit down at her desk.

He stared at her, confused. "How'd you know that?"

"I just briefed the press on it," she said with a swagger in her voice. "You're blocked, aren't you?"

Smiling sheepishly, he nodded. "Yeah. I have no clue how to attack this one."

CJ stared up from the memo that she had just started looking at. "You have no clue-"

"-How to attack this one, right," he finished lamely. "I'm stuck."

Pulling out some fish food for Gail, she sighed and asked, "What, exactly, are you stuck on?"

"Everything!" He plopped down on her sofa. "I mean, I know what to say. Something along the lines of, you can live with this disease, you can be productive with it, you don't have to let MS inhibit you. But I don't know how to say it."

"Sam."

"Yeah?"

"I've gotta prepare this stuff for the next briefing. Go bug Toby."

Looking down quickly before coming back up, he replied, "He's being deposed."

"Ah," she said, nodding. "Well, how about Leo?"

"You want me to go bug Leo?" he asked, somewhat stunned.

"Right, bad idea... "

He smiled at her. "I'll go see if I can write this, and get out of your hair. I'll see ya."

"Okay." She watched as he got up and left, closing the door behind him.

{**********}

Leo walked back into his office. "Margaret, where's that-"

"On your desk," she answered from the other room, through the closed door. "By the Zanick fax, under the floppy disk."

"Thank you," Leo called back, picking up the papers as he sat back down at his desk. "Tell anyone who calls that I'm busy until after I meet with Secretary-"

"Leo!" Lionel Tribbey greeted with a wide smile as he burst into McGarry's office.

"Lionel Tribbey's here to see you, by the way," Margaret stated, quickly poking her head in the door before disappearing again.

"How the hell are ya?" the ebullient lawyer asked, completely ignoring Margaret and sticking his hand out for Leo to shake.

Still somewhat baffled by the sudden reappearance of the one-time White House Counsel, Leo dropped the report he'd been reading, took the man's hand and shook it vigorously. "Not too bad, considering... what're you doing here?"

"What, I can't just drop in on old friends?" he asked, scowling histrionically.

"I seem to recall you wanted to break my head in two with that cricket bat, last time I saw you," Leo retorted good-naturedly. "Seriously, Lionel. I thought you were all set up at the ACLU?"

"Oh, I am, I am," he replied as they sat down, across the desk from one another. "It's great. Sure, there are still blithering idiots there, but at least-"

"Lionel."

"Yeah?"

"What are you doing here?"

Tribbey's jovial manner faded into seriousness, and his voice lowered to normal tones as he leaned forward slightly. "I want to help."

"You want to become part of the White House Counsel again?" Leo asked cautiously.

Tribbey shook his head. "Willing to bet you've got a thousand lawyers down there. Besides, I know Ollie. He's decent."

"Then, what?"

"Do you have lawyers?"

Leo shrugged and started reading over the report on his desk again. "I got the staff set up with lawyers, they're taken care of."

"But I'm willing to bet all the money in your wallet and mine that you didn't get a lawyer for yourself," Lionel stated with a tiny smirk.

Leo glanced up from his work and regarded him, somewhat sheepishly. "I'll look into it after I finish up here, I promise."

"You've got your deposition tomorrow, don't you? Let me represent you."

Shaking his head, he chuckled a bit. "Lionel-"

"I've already got a team assembled and ready to go," he interrupted eagerly. "They're good kids, all of 'em. We've been researching the case extensively."

Leo tapped his pen against his desk thoughtfully. "What do you know about this special prosecutor?"

Scoffing, Tribbey replied, "Barclay Dupris? He's a sniveling little New Orleans rat fink who should crawl back into the Bourbon Street gutter from whence he came."

"He's a heluva vicious lawyer."

"And so am I." He stared intently at his old boss, waiting for the words to sink in. "Let me help."

Sighing deeply, Leo gazed vacantly at his desk and nodded. "Okay."

{**********}

The sun shone brightly on his back as Josh walked up the Capitol steps. At the lunch hour, the halls were quiet, except for the occasional tourist. When he reached the actual offices, they were completely silent save for the steady thrum of the air conditioning as it whispered cool, regurgitated air throughout the building.

Maddock's secretary was on the phone when Josh reached the office. He waited patiently in front of her desk, taking the time to take in the pale, bland walls and sterile decorations that were chicly placed about. After a few short moments, the secretary hung up the phone and glanced up at him.

"You can go on in, Mr. Lyman," she stated serenely.

He walked into the office, quietly shutting the door behind him. Inside, the youngish, shorn-headed senator was busy filing something away. "Senator Maddock," Josh greeted, announcing his presence.

The energetic man spun to face him, file still in hand. "Josh," he boomed, his grin revealing perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth that stood out in contrast against his dark skin. "I'm sorry, let me just finish filing this--sit down, sit down, please."

"Yes, sir," the deputy chief replied, sitting down in front of the desk with a tiny smile.

"How are you?" Maddock asked, closing the file drawer and sitting down himself.

Shrugging, Josh answered, "Pretty good, pretty good. Listen, reason I'm here today-"

"Family Advocacy Act, I know, I know. Candy?" he asked, holding out a small candy dish filled with various small sweets.

"Oh, no thank you, Senator," he replied with a small shake of his head.

"You sure? They say that a half an ounce of chocolate a day is good for you, you know," the young senator stated, unwrapping a small piece of chocolate.

"I'm sure," Josh affirmed with a smile. "Listen, about the bill. We've gone over it-"

"You mean you and your assistant went over it, as a punishment from Mr. McGarry. But go on, please."

He paused, an almost sheepish smirk on his face. "How'd you know that?"

Maddock grinned brightly. "I just guessed. Anyway, do go on."

Nodding, Josh said, "Well, I'm not quite sure why you're against this bill."

"I'd like for you to add ten million dollars to it," he stated bluntly, tossing the candy wrapper into the trash.

Josh stared at him incredulously. "Excuse me, what?"

"I'd like for you to add ten-"

"-Million dollars, yeah, I heard that... why?"

"Because there's not enough money in the budget allocated for shelters for abused spouses and children," he replied, the joviality completely gone from his persona. "Also, there's nothing for substance abuse rehabilitation programs."

"Senator, this bill's going to the floor the day after tomorrow," Josh stated, still floored by the senator's request.

"I know. Toss that sucker in there, and let it go to vote."

"But we don't have that kind of money," he said, smiling in that cocky way he smiled when he was unsure of something. Running a hand through his hair, he added, "We can't even *start* to come up with that money by tomorrow."

"Take it out of the big tobacco fight," Maddock stated, shrugging flippantly.

"Senator, tobacco kills," was Josh's reply.

"So does abuse, Josh," he countered, leaning forward a bit to look him in the eye. "It's a four billion dollar bill, Josh," Maddock added, leaning back again and scowling. "You mean to tell me that you can't find ten million extra bucks somewhere?"

"That'd mean redrafting the entire bill," he said numbly. "It took us four months to come up with this draft, and even now, it's... we put that in, it might not get passed."

"You got a nose count of sixty-two," Maddock stated. "I've got fourteen senators behind me that'll vote nay on this if I tell 'em to. If you *don't* put that in, it *definitely* won't get passed." Standing up, he said, "I think this meeting's over, Josh. Take a candy to your assistant for me."

Day One, Part Two

"Josh!" 

He looked behind him as he entered his office. Sam was striding towards him, a sheaf of papers in hand. "Hey... 'sup?"

"Not much," he answered. "How'd the meeting go?"

"He wants ten million dollars tacked on at the last minute," Josh answered incredulously.

"Ten million dollars? For what?" Sam asked, his own face mirroring Josh's.

He shrugged as he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves again. "Ahh . . . nothing. Listen, you had lunch yet?"

"No, wanna go get something?"

"Yeah."

They headed down to the mess, making small talk about the day in general. Getting their food and finding a seat in the almost empty room, Sam began, "So, I still can't write that speech."

"Still?" Josh asked, taking a bite out of his sandwich. "I thought you were gonna go bug CJ and then be done with it."

"I thought so too, but... " He let his voice trail off, as his thoughts became as blocked as his writing. "Anyway. I'm gonna wait til Toby gets back, see if he can't help me out."

"Good plan," Josh agreed, nodding. They finished the rest of their meal with inconsequential conversation, and Sam went back to his office while Josh went to see Leo.

"Come in," Josh heard Leo say after he knocked on the door. He opened the door casually, and strode in with his usual swagger.

Leo looked up from the report he'd been reading and said, "What'd he want?"

"Ten million dollars for substance abuse programs and shelters for battered spouses and children," he answered succinctly.

"I thought we already had money allocated for that sort of stuff," McGarry replied, somewhat confused.

Josh nodded. "Yeah, but not enough for him. He wants to rework the bill."

"It's going to the floor tomorrow."

"I told him that, but he just... " His voice trailed off exasperatedly, and he stared off to a point behind and above his boss. "Hey, Leo?"

"Yeah?" he asked, eyes still on his work.

"Ahh... nothin'."

The older man glanced up at his deputy. "Josh."

"Yeah?"

"What is it?"

He motioned vaguely at the folded flag that sat atop one of Leo's shelves. "It's just that I always see that flag there, and I always wonder whose it is."

"Ah." He started back on his work again. "It's my father's."

"Your dad was in the service?"

"Yeah. And the force."

He nodded and continued to look at it, his hands resting on his hips. "Oh . . . how'd he, uh... "

"Shot himself in the head," Leo answered matter-of-factly, calmly making notes on the document he'd been working on.

Josh dropped his head suddenly to stare at his boss, a stunned expression on his face. He'd thought that perhaps the senior McGarry had died in the line of duty; never could he have guessed at suicide. "Oh," he said, awkwardly. "Okay."

"Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"Go see what you can do about scrounging up that ten million," he instructed, flipping to the next page on the report.

Josh, back in politico mode, furrowed his brows, perplexed. "Wait, we're giving him the ten million?"

"I never said that," Leo stated, making more notes. "If we can find it, then we'll give it to him. If not, then we *won't* give it to him."

Josh nodded. "Right. Okay, that all?"

"Scram!" he growled good-naturedly with a small wave of his hand, his eyes and the majority of his attention still on the report. Josh left with a grin and locked the door behind him.

A moment after Josh's departure, Leo sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes wearily. He put his pen down, leaned back in his chair and swiveled it around, his gaze going up to the blue triangle that loomed above him on the uppermost shelf behind his desk.

{**********}

Dropping his coat on his couch, Toby walked over to his desk and picked up the messages that Ginger had left for him from the day. He sat down in his chair and blindly reached for his left drawer; reading the notes, he had yet to realize that someone else was in the room with him.

"Hey, Toby."

Ziegler started upright, dropping the small papers to the ground. "Jesus Christ on a crutch, Sam, you been taking lessons from Margaret? Scared the crap outta me, there," he muttered.

Sam regarded him apologetically. "Sorry," he said. "How'd the deposition go?"

"Four hours of them asking me how long I've known that the President has multiple sclerosis, then lunch, then four *more* hours of them asking me how long I've known that the President has multiple sclerosis," he answered somewhat bitterly.

"That sucks."

"Yeah. What're you doing here?"

"I'm working on a speech," he replied brightly. "For the President. He's going to a banquet hosted by the International MS Support Foundation."

"When did this happen?" Toby asked curiously.

"While you were being deposed," Sam replied.

"When I was being overthrown?" he asked, smiling a little.

"I mean when you were giving your deposition."

"But you just like saying, 'being deposed,' as opposed to 'giving your deposition.

'

"Yes."

"Because... "

"That would make *me* king."

"Right." He nodded and fished out one of his rubber balls. "So, what're you doing in my office?"

"I kind of need your help on the speech," he replied, a little timidly.

"Oh, but you want to depose me still?" Toby joked dryly. "What do you have so far?"

"That's the thing."

"You have nothing."

"Yes."

"When's this supposed to be done?"

"Day after tomorrow, by ten in the morning. After that, the President leaves for Air Force One," Sam answered.

Shrugging, "Not too bad. You got notes, at least?"

Pointing in the direction of his office, he answered, "In there."

Toby got up, rolling the ball around in his fingers. "Lead on, Gilligan."

"Right this way, Skipper."

He stopped walking, and glared at Sam. "Never, ever call me Skipper."

Sam just stared at him, lost. "But, I thought-"

"Let's just go write this speech, huh?"

Seaborn nodded and they headed into his office. Three hours later, as his watched beeped eleven at night, they still had not made any headway.

"I'm blocked," Sam stated abruptly, dropping his pen to the desk. "Completely and utterly blocked."

"I can tell," Toby replied, equally as frustrated. He had been trying to help Sam write without actually writing it himself, but everything Sam wrote, Sam was unhappy with. There was nothing Toby could say that could stop the younger writer from balling up the drafts of the speech. "You know what you want to say though, right?"

"Right," he began energetically. "I want to say that it's a livable disease, and that MS doesn't have to hinder a person's daily life, and that it's-"

"Sam?" Toby interrupted quietly.

"Yeah?" he replied, with a bright-eyed, clear expression.

"Say it, say MS," he instructed of Sam.

Seaborn laughed a little. "MS? You want me to say MS? Well, sorry, I can't say MS-"

"Now say multiple sclerosis."

He gave a single huff of air that could have been a laugh, had it not been so awkward. Pursing his lips together, he started to say it; however, even though air escaped his lips, no sounds did. He furrowed his brows a bit in concentration. Again, his mouth closed in preparation to say it, and again, he was unable. A third time he tried, and a third time he failed. Finally, he simply resigned himself to, "MS."

"It's just that I haven't heard you say it since he came out to the public," Toby stated softly, his dark eyes flickering between the floor and Sam's own bright blue irises.

He thought about it quietly. "Yeah," he replied sadly after a moment.

"Sam-"

"I'm fine," he said too quickly and too brightly, gathering up a few things and walking briskly out of his office.


	2. Downward Spiral 2

 

**Downward Spiral**

**by:** Baked Goldfish 

**Character(s):** Leo  
 **Rating:** TEEN for content  
**Summary:** AU post 2nd season  


Day Two, Part One

The first four hours of the deposition were monotonous, and frustrating. Dupris, a slim, somewhat disturbingly handsome-faced man with dark, limp hair cut in a fashionable way, had spent the time picking McGarry's brain on such things as how long he'd known of the condition, how well the President functions on a regular basis, history of clumsiness or forgetfulness on the President's part--basically, anything that could possibly place doubt in Bartlet's inability to carry out the duties of his office. 

Unfortunately for Dupris, Babish and Tribbey had trained Leo well. Nothing he said put Bartlet in anything but an exemplary light. So, as a change of tactics, Dupris began questioning *Leo's* inability to carry out his duties, insinuating that he was a power-hungry tyrant who had spent the better part of the last three years controlling every aspect of what Bartlet did in office.

Then, they broke for lunch.

An hour later, they were back in the courtroom, well-fed and somewhat refreshed. Leo got back up on the stand, and poured himself a glass of water. Dupris walked up to him.

"It's your testimony," the lawyer began in a smooth, easy voice, "that everything you've said today is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, correct?"

"Yes," Leo replied easily. "It is."

"Have you ever lied under oath?" he asked casually.

"No," was Leo's reply, shaking his head.

"How about police reports?"

"Objection," Lionel interjected. "Your honor, where is this going?"

The judge cast a wary eye at Dupris. "Agreed, what does this have to do with the case at hand?"

Dupris looked at her, calmly, with thin brows raised innocently over clear brown eyes. "Leads to character questions, your Honor. Permission to proceed?"

"Granted," she answered with a small wave of her hand.

He nodded. "Mr. McGarry, I ask again, have you ever lied in police reports?"

"No, I have not," he replied calmly, again shaking his head again.

Dupris picked up a sheaf of photographs from his table. "Mr. McGarry, how did your father die?"

"Objection," Lionel stated tersely. "This line of questioning has no bearing on this hearing."

"Your honor, I *am* going somewhere with this, it leads to a question of Mr. McGarry's character," Dupris said calmly. "With the court's permission, I'd like to continue... "

The judge regarded the two lawyers thoughtfully. "All right," she finally conceded. "But if it seems like it's going nowhere, I'm going to put a stop to it right there."

"Yes, your honor, thank you. Now, Mr. McGarry, how did your father die?"

"He committed suicide when I was sixteen," Leo answered evenly.

"How?"

"He shot himself in the head."

"Are you sure?"

He bit back a sarcastic reply and simply answered, "Yes. I saw-" He swallowed dryly and took a sip of water. "I saw the wound."

"He shot himself in the head," Dupris repeated. "With what?"

"With a gun," Leo answered curtly.

"What kind of gun?"

"Your honor, objection," Lionel called, annoyed. "This is doing nothing but agitating my client."

"Your honor, I'm about to go somewhere with this," Dupris stated.

"Make it quick," she ordered brusquely "I'm getting bored by you."

"Yes your honor. Mr. McGarry, what kind of gun?"

"A police-issue service revolver."

"Okay. Now," he began, referring to his notes. "The police report states that you were in the garage with your father at the time of his death. Is this true?"

"Yeah," he answered quietly, staring coldly at the prosecutor.

"Your mother was with your sisters, and you were alone with your father, is that correct?"

"Yes, it is," he answered, gritting his teeth.

"Your honor-" Tribbey growled.

"Mr. Dupris, can we get on with this? You're walkin' on eggshells," she reprimanded. "Move on."

He nodded apologetically. "Mr. McGarry. I've got the coroner's photos of your father. Can you confirm for the court that this is, in fact, your father, one Michael McGarry?"

"I don't see what he's trying to prove here," Lionel snapped. "Your honor, objection!"

"Mr. Dupris, I'll ask you to return your line of questioning to that which is relevant to the case at hand," the judge stated sternly.

Holding his hands up in defense, Dupris said, "I'm about to reveal something that will call Mr. McGarry's character into question and throw doubt on his so-called truthfulness-"

"Objection!"

"-Excuse me, his testimony in other matters. Please, your honor, I beg the court's indulgence."

Somewhat grudgingly, she nodded and said, "Proceed."

He nodded and turned back to Leo. "Sir. Is this your father?"

Leo looked down at the photographs that Dupris held in his hand. Looking away, he swallowed again, and took another sip of water. "Yes, that, that's my father, Michael McGarry."

"There aren't that many powder burns on his head, are there?"

"I wouldn't know, I'm not a gun expert," he replied, swallowing uncomfortably. The sarcasm of the statement was lost in his soft, unsure voice.

"Well, let me ask you this. Isn't that a rather bizarre angle to shoot oneself in the head?" He quirked his head to the side and waited patiently for McGarry's answer.

"Again," Leo began slowly, trying to keep his voice from shaking, "I wouldn't know. I'm not an expert on that subject, either."

"Mr. McGarry, you were the only one in that garage with your father. He suffered a fatal gunshot wound to the head, there are only a few powder burns evident, and the wound itself is at a strange angle. Most people who shoot themselves in the head shoot themselves in the temple, under the chin, or in the mouth, *not* on the left side of their foreheads. Especially not right-handed fellows. So, I ask you again, sir, how did your father die?"

Leo stared at him, brows just slightly pulled together, jaw just slightly slackened, eyes just slightly wider than normal, breath just slightly shakier than usual. "He... " His voice trailed off uncomfortably, and he left the question unanswered.

With a tiny, greasy smile, Dupris leaned towards the witness and asked, "Now, Mr. McGarry, are you *sure* you've never lied in a police report?"

The courtroom atmosphere was still, as if it were a photograph instead of a room full of living, breathing people. Nothing moved, nothing made a sound except for the air conditioner's steady hum of cool air.

"Your honor," Lionel started quietly after a long, silent moment. "I request that the court adjourn for the day... my client seems, ah, a bit shaken from this line of questioning."

Nodding slowly, she replied, "Granted. This court is adjourned. We'll be back tomorrow, eight o'clock." She slammed the gavel down, and the sound echoed startlingly throughout the still-quiet courtroom.

{**********}

Flipping the folder closed, he yelled, "Donna!"

"Use the intercom, Josh," came her tinny voice through the small machine on his desk.

Josh stared at it for a moment. Then he pressed the button and yelled, "Donna!"

She came into his office, rubbing her ear in slight pain. "What?" she snapped.

"Is Leo back yet?" he asked, his voice more civil.

Scoffing slightly, she walked back to her little cubicle and replied, "You know he's still got, like, three hours left in front of the grand jury."

"Right," he replied, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully. "I need you to run this stuff over to his office.

Reappearing in the doorway, she stared at him, perplexed. "He's not there right now."

"I know that, but I want this on his desk as soon as possible," he stated with an exasperated smirk.

Just then, another, more junior staffer called for Donna. She turned around and left without so much as an "excuse me". Josh inhaled deeply and tapped his desk thoughtfully, staring after her for a moment.

"Okay," he finally breathed, standing up and grabbing the files and notes he'd been working on. "It's fine, Donna, I'll just run 'em over to his office myself. That is, after all, why I've got an assistant, so that *I* can do the menial work myself. Right."

He made it to his boss' office quickly enough, with only the occasional, "hey," from the staffers dotting his path to the larger office. Knocking on Margaret's door, he asked, "He in yet?"

"He wasn't in when Donna answered that question for you, was he?" she replied flippantly, not even bothering to look up from the memo she was typing up.

He stared at her, wondering just how she knew that he'd asked Donna that question. "Uh, I take it he's not in, then."

"Rightaroony."

He walked to Leo's door and tried to turn the knob, but it was stuck. "Um, Margaret?"

Getting up and walking over to it, she said, "You've gotta jiggle it a little."

He moved his hand away, letting her pull the trick that would open the door. It worked, and she moved out of his way, letting him into the office.

"Any idea when he'll be back?" he asked absently, dropping some papers in a neat pile on Leo's desk.

She moved into the doorway. "He should be back in a few hours, actually. The deposition's scheduled to go on til five."

He nodded and looked up at her. He was about to say, "Thanks," when the door to the hallway slammed open.

{**********}

Lionel grabbed Leo by the elbow and led him through the mire of photographers and reporters to the limo. Once inside the safety and relative privacy of the vehicle, he asked in a low, cautious voice, "Leo, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine," he answered too quickly, wiping the moisture off his palms and onto his pant legs.

"Then what the hell was that?" Tribbey hissed. "Leo, please tell me you didn't-"

"I didn't," he snapped anxiously. "The police records have it down as suicide, Lionel, there's nothing that could even *remotely*-"

"Leo, these photographs say otherwise," he growled, pulling copies of the pictures out of his briefcase.

Leo slammed the photos away and glared icily at the lawyer. "The police records have it down as suicide. He shot himself in the head with a police-issue revolver."

Lionel stared at him, eyes seething anger. "Why the hell does that sound like a rehearsed sentence?"

"Because I've been saying it for forty years," he ground out roughly.

Tribbey shoved the photos back into the briefcase and sat back against his seat, his movements jerky and angry. Clenching his jaw shut, he stared furiously out his window. "This is *so* bad, Leo."

"Oh, Jesus, what does it even matter?" McGarry snarled, as the nervous tapping of his fingers against the armrest betrayed the anxiety he was trying to hide.

"What does it matter?" Tribbey bellowed, turning to stare at him incredulously. "What does it *matter*? Jesus Christ, Leo, this stuff throws *all kinds* of doubt on your character!"

"Look, the police reports say-"

"It doesn't *matter* what they say," Lionel interrupted loudly. "Dupris' got ... I dunno, *some*thing on you here, and he's gonna make everyone think that your father was murdered! Which, in case you didn't notice, calls your character into question! This is gonna make you look like a liar and a killer. And you're the President's right hand man, Leo. You're his go-to guy. You reflect on *him*, not the other way around. If you're a liar, he's a liar, and this whole administration's full of liars."

The car pulled to a stop. Leo stared coldly out his window, waiting for the agents to get out before him.

Lionel once again leaned in close, his voice soft and quiet. "Leo," he began. "Look me in the eyes and tell me that there's nothing concrete he can throw at us."

Leo turned to face him, his eyes hot and his mouth set in a thin line. "The police reports say it was a suicide. So do the coroner's reports, and the officer at the scene. This guy doesn't have a leg to stand on with this." He got out and began following the agents into the White House.

He kept a brisk pace as he walked to his office, wearing a hard, emotionless look on his face. He barely acknowledged the polite greetings he got from some of the junior staffers as he made his way down the halls. Swinging the door to his office wide open, he stopped abruptly at the sight of Josh and Margaret standing in front of his desk.

"The hell're you doin' here?" he snapped at Josh, his voice low and seething.

Josh stared at his boss, stunned both by his early return and his apparent anger. "I was just dropping off some-"

"Out! Get out!" McGarry interrupted, snarling the words. "You too," he added, pointing at Margaret. They both scurried into Margaret's office, knowing better than to question his directives.

He slammed the door shut, locked it, and went about locking the other two doors to his office, first Margaret's, then the one leading to the Oval. Loosening his tie, he walked towards his desk and glanced down at the papers Josh had left. The flag stared down at him from its perch. He read the first page quickly while taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. The flag loomed above him, breathing dark, diseased air. He picked up the report and sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk, his jacket draped over the back. The flag glared snidely and haughtily at him, tempting him to do something.

He laughed madly, giving one tiny snort and an angry grin as he flipped the report closed. Throwing it back onto the desk, he took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose; the grin was pasted onto his face, out of place with his otherwise angered visage. His glasses were the next thing to be thrown to the desk, landing on top of the thick sheaf of papers that Josh had left.

He stood up abruptly and laughed bitterly, putting his hands on his hips and looking down. "You got me," he muttered, raising his gaze back up to the blue triangle above him. "All these years, I thought I'd left your ghost behind. But here you are, smackin' me around again. Just like old times, huh, Da?"

The grin finally twisted into a snarl, and he glowered at the flag ferally. "I guess it's payback, huh? Not enough that I got your love for liquor. Not enough that Ma used to look at me, when I got older, used to say, 'So much like your father'. I used to scare her, you know, when she just saw me outta the corner of her eye. I looked too much like you. But that's not enough, is it? Gotta come back to hurt my friends, too."

He looked away. Ran a hand over the back of his neck. Turned and paced to the couch. "I guess it's my fault, though," he stated with a bitter huff. "I pointed the gun at you, after all. But you were the one who said it," he snarled, turning back to face his father's flag. "You said, 'Betcha can't shoot it, boy,' ya drunk bastard. But I could," he said, his voice thick with emotion and heavy with conviction. "I could, and I did, and I-"

There was a catch in his voice, a lump in his throat that he couldn't choke out. "I'm sorry," he breathed out hoarsely, collapsing onto the couch behind him. "I'm so sorry, Da." He curled into himself, chin to his chest, elbows on his knees, shoulders cowled inward, and fingers laced together stiffly and braced against his forehead. The hidden guilt of forty years came forth in the form of tears, running down the craggy surface of his face to splash onto the soft cloth of his trousers; the need for a parent's touch overwhelmed him, and he rocked himself with tiny motions in a vain attempt to achieve that comfort.

Eventually, the sobs that shook his shoulders were dry, and he was able to look back up at the flag with still body and clear eyes. His face was still twisted with wretchedness, and the tears had left stiff tracks on his skin, but no new tears came about from looking at the folded flag on his shelf. Standing up, he swiped the back of his hand across his eyes. Slowly, he began regaining some form of composure as he tightened his tie and rolled down his sleeves. By the time he got to his jacket, he resembled something close to what passed for normal in that building.

He picked up his briefcase and unlocked the doors, first the hall door, then the Oval, then Margaret's. He paused there for a moment; then, he opened it. He watched as she typed something up.

"Margaret," he said softly, almost numbly. His eyes shifted gaze to Josh momentarily as Margaret turned to face her boss. Back to her, he stated, "I'm going home for the day."

She stared at him for a moment longer than usual, taken aback by the sudden weariness that seemed to have overcome him. "Okay," she replied, cringing softly at the relative loudness of her voice compared to his.

Licking his dry lips, Leo said, "If Sam comes by with the speech, tell him to leave it on my desk." His voice never reached above mumble, and his eyes never really made contact with hers.

"Okay," she repeated, her voice quieter than before, yet still louder than Leo's.

Josh watched the exchange with more than just growing worry; never had he seen Leo go from seething to shell-shocked like this.

"Leo, you okay?" he asked, knowing both the answer to the question, and the answer Leo would give him.

"Yeah," the older man replied, not meeting his eyes. "I'm gonna go home for the day." He turned and walked back into his office, closing the door between them. Reaching the door to the hallway, he put his hand on the doorknob and turned. The chambers clicked loudly in the lock, disrupting the otherwise complete silence of the office. He turned around slowly, his hand still on the knob but his eyes rose to the folded flag in the back of his office. It leveled it's own gaze back, and he turned back around, letting the blue guardian silently watch over his office as he left.

Day Two, Part Two

Sam walked into Josh's bullpen. Seeing Donna, he asked, "Is Josh in?"

She glanced up from what she was doing. "He just went to see Leo."

He quirked his head to the side slightly, confused. "But Leo's-"

"Not here yet, I know," Donna replied. "Josh should be back soon, if you wanna wait in his office."

"Okay," Sam said, walking into Josh's office. He sat down, a little nervously, and waited patiently for Josh's arrival.

He didn't need to wait very long. Josh was back in a matter of minutes, looking more harried than usual. He nodded at Sam and said, "Hey."

"Hey," Sam chirped. "What's up?"

"Not much," he replied, collapsing tiredly in his chair. "You?"

"Not much," he mirrored. "Leo in?"

"He *was*. Just went home."

Sam furrowed his brows slightly, taken aback. "Went home? But it's-" he glanced at his watch "-two-thirty."

"Yeah." Josh sat up straight and rubbed his eyes. "What do you need?"

He opened his mouth, as if to say something. Thinking better of it, he closed his mouth again and shook his head. "Nothing. I'll just give Leo a call when he gets home."

Josh shook his head. "I don't think you wanna do that. He seemed pretty... I dunno. Freaked out."

"Freaked out?"

"Yeah, he came in, screamed at me and Margaret to get out, and locked the door after us. Ten minutes later, he unlocked the door and told us he was going home," he stated, shrugging his shoulders. "Dunno what happened, but he went from angry as hell to... " His voice trailed off, and he sighed heavily. "I guess the deposition went badly."

"It couldn't have gone *that* badly," Sam said, perplexed. "Could it?"

"Dunno. Anyway, so what's up?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

"I can't write the speech," he replied matter-of-factly. "I'm gonna ask Toby to do it, and I'll take over his projects in the meantime."

Josh blinked, clearly confused. "You still can't get over your block? What's wrong?"

"Can't say MS."

Smirking a little, Josh replied, "Sorry to burst your bubble, but you just said-"

"No, I can't say what it stands for," Sam clarified.

The smirk was quickly replaced by a tiny frown. "You can't say... multiple sclerosis?"

He shook his head.

"Why not?"

"I don't know!" he replied, standing up and throwing his hands up exasperatedly. "I, I *used* to be able to, but-"

"Sam?"

"Yeah?" he responded, his voice back to normal momentarily.

"You still angry?"

Again, he shook his head. "No," he voiced, quietly. "Not since he said he was gonna run again."

He regarded Sam with that sad, thoughtful, open expression that not many people have seen. "Did you go see Toby after Leo told you?"

"No," he replied, sitting back down.

"It's just now sinking in, isn't it?" he asked, his own voice softer than usual.

"Yeah." It was almost a whisper, barely louder than the air in the room.

Josh chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before looking back at Sam. Finally, he asked, "You wanna talk about it?"

Sam looked down at his hands for a moment, mulling over his answer. Then:

"Yeah."

{**********}

The phone rang obnoxiously loud, and he swatted around until the receiver fell onto the nightstand. Grabbing the offending piece of plastic, Leo propped himself up on his elbow and yawned wearily.

"McGarry," he mumbled tiredly into the phone.

"Leo, I didn't wake you up, did I?" came the solid, lightly twanging voice on the other end of the line. "It's only nine o'clock."

"John? I, uh, came home early--what do you need?" Leo asked, slightly disoriented and sitting up some more.

"Well, I need to check up on you so that Janeane doesn't kill me," Hoynes replied glibly.

Leo searched his memory quickly for the name. "Janeane? Your secretary?"

In the Blair House, Hoynes leaned back into his sofa and stretched, working the day's kinks out of his broad back. "Yeah. You know how secretaries get. When one gets worried, that worry gets around faster than news of the town sweetheart's shotgun wedding."

"Margaret called her?" Leo asked incredulously.

"Well," he drawled, "from what I gather, Donna called Cathy, who called Carol, who called Ginger, who went to Margaret, who, then backed by her fellow White House assistants-"

"-Went to Janeane. Yeah, I got that. But why would she call Ja-"

"Margaret's not dumb, Leo. She probably knows about the card games. I'm pretty sure Janeane figured it out a long time ago," Hoynes observed dryly. Chewing the inside of his cheek, he mulled over his next words for a moment. "You wanna come over, have a little card game?" he finally asked lightly.

"Now?" Leo replied, glancing at his clock. "With whom?"

John shrugged, a habitual gesture that he subconsciously knew had no way of translating over the phone. "It's only nine, and you don't necessarily need more than one person to have a card game. It doesn't have to be poker all the time, right?" he laughed. Sobering slightly, he stated, "Come on over, Leo. I'll send a car for you, should be there in about fifteen minutes or so."

Leo heard the click as the line went dead, and blinked at the dull, steady tone that the handset was emitting. Placing it back into the cradle, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and went about pulling on some comfortable clothes.

He showed up at the Vice President's mansion with a guarded expression on his face, matching the guard in his stance.

One of the agents ushered him into the living room, where Hoynes was waiting with two glasses of orange juice. "Leo," he greeted professionally. He handed him a glass.

"John." He regarded him with that same caution with which he'd entered, and ignored the juice that was being offered to him.

Hoynes nodded and put the glass down on a corner table. Taking a sip of his own juice, he said, "Look, Leo. You don't need to tell me anything. Frankly, I don't care what's stuck in your craw. All I care about is that if you screw up, that's one less person in *my* web of support. That being said," he added in a softer tone of voice, gently guiding Leo to one of the soft, cushioned seats, "please tell me what's bothering you."

Leo watched as John moved the second glass of juice to the coffee table between them, and then sat down across from him. Leaning forward, he somewhat hesitantly picked up the glass and took a small sip before setting it down again.

Effectively hiding the quick smile of relief as Leo began talking, Hoynes leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees to better listen to the other man, putting the politician in him to bed for the night.


	3. Downward Spiral 3

 

**Downward Spiral**

**by:** Baked Goldfish 

**Character(s):** Leo  
 **Rating:** TEEN for content  
**Summary:** AU post 2nd season  


Day Three

Day two of his deposition started much like the first: bright, sunny, and early. The only difference was that day two also saw Leo a little more clear-headed than he'd been at the end of day one, much in part to the cathartic talk he'd had with the vice president the night before. Still, he seemed far wearier than usual. His normal saunter was replaced by a tired shuffle, and his briefcase hung heavily from his fingers as he made his way to the office. It was a slower walk than usual.

He found Lionel waiting in his office, sitting in one of the chairs in front of his desk, sipping some coffee. "Margaret let me in," the white-haired lawyer announced. "I just wanted you to know, we managed to track down some of the cops who worked your father's case, who can vouch for the police reports. I don't think we'll need them, but in case we do... " He stood up, walked to the door to stand next to Leo. "You should go see Margaret," he advised quietly. "She's worried about you."

Leo replied, "So I heard. She worries if the sun'll come up in the morning. But I'll go see her."

Lionel nodded. "I'll be downstairs when you're ready," he said, walking out the door.

With a tiny sigh, Leo walked over to his desk, dropping his briefcase beside his chair. Shrugging off his jacket, he walked over to Margaret's office, opening the door between them.

"Margaret." He waited until she turned to look at him, which didn't take long at all. "What's my day look like today?"

It took a moment, but she glanced down at the planner on her desk. "Eight to twelve, you've got the deposition, then at one you've got Congressman... "

He listened to her rattle off the times and people, hearing but not absorbing the information. He knew that the simple normality of him asking for his schedule would set her at ease better than any words of assurance could, so he stood there and waited for her to finish.

"... and then at seven-thirty, Mick Brigham from the EPA wants to meet over dinner."

He raised an eyebrow at that. "I've got a dinner date with Mick Brigham?" he asked sourly.

She smirked and replied, "Count yourself lucky, you old goat."

Chuckling softly, he turned and walked back into his office. The insult was proof enough that she thought he was fine. "I'm gonna work for a little while. Don't bug me unless it's important," he stated, pulling the door shut.

A moment later, the door opened, and Margaret came in. "The average dishwasher uses twelve gallons of water per cycle," she said, as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Margaret!" he growled, sitting up straight and putting his pen down onto his desk.

"Also, Sam's here to see you," she added, before quickly retreating back to her hole-in-the-wall office.

The young man came in, watching Margaret close the door with perplexity written across his face. Turning to face his boss, he began, "What was-"

"Nothing," Leo dismissed with a wave. "What've you got?"

"The speech for the International Multiple Sclerosis Support Foundation," he replied, smiling proudly. "It's completely finished, and Toby proofed it." He lay the transcript down on Leo's desk.

"Well... good." He watched patiently as Sam stood before him, still smiling. "Is there something else you need to tell me?"

"No," he replied. "I'm gonna go now."

"You do that," he said, regarding Sam with a bemused expression on his face.

"Okay," he chirped. "Bye!"

Leo shook his head as the door closed. Grabbing the speech, he got up and headed to the Oval Office.

On the other side, Bartlet heard a knock coming from Leo's door. "Come in."

The door between the Oval and McGarry's office opened; Bartlet stood up when he saw Leo enter. "Leo, what can I do for you?"

"Sam just handed me your speech for the dinner," he answered with a smirk, handing the document over to the President.

He chuckled. "Always down to the wire, isn't he?"

McGarry allowed himself a tiny smile at that. "Wouldn't be our Sam if that wasn't true. Besides, we've still got ten hours before you've got to leave. I'll see you when you get back from the dinner, Mr. President."

"No, no, come on, sit down Leo," he cajoled good-naturedly. "You've still got a half an hour before you go back to the jury. Let's talk for a little bit."

"Okay," he replied with an incredulous smirk and small laugh. "You're not on that back medication right now, are you sir?"

Rolling his eyes, he led Leo to the sofa. "I'm not, I swear. I just wanna talk. How'd the deposition go?"

Shrugging, he sat down. "Went okay, I guess."

"Lionel told me they asked about your Dad."

There it was. The blunt crux of the conversation. Leo stared up at him, startled by the sudden change in atmosphere. Slowly, he replied, "Yeah. They did."

"Said they insinuated some things." He remained standing, waiting for Leo's response.

"Yeah. They did."

"I'll tell 'em to lay off," he stated softly.

Leo stood up abruptly. "No," he replied, his voice low with warning.

Striding to the phone, Bartlet said, "They're accusing you of... they're saying you did things you didn't. I'm gonna tell 'em to lay off."

"Mr. President, you'll do no such thing," Leo retorted crossly, walking up behind him. "I don't want you getting involved in this, it's got nothing to do with the actual investigation. No good would come of you getting involved, sir."

"I'm gonna tell 'em to lay off," Bartlet stated vehemently, reaching for the phone.

Leo crushed the reciever back into the cradle, holding Bartlet's hand under his own and glaring into his eyes. "You'll do no such thing," he growled.

"Why not?" the President snarled. "They're accusing you-"

"It's drawing their attention away from you," Leo interrupted, speaking slowly for fear that if he spoke any faster, his friend would not comprehend his words. "It's taking the heat off you, and letting you do your job."

Wrenching his hand free from under Leo's, Bartlet seethed, "But they're dragging you down! My God, Leo, they're just dragging you through the *dirt* with neither a shred of evidence nor a shred of remorse!"

"It's better this way," he replied quietly, his soft, gravelly voice filling the room deafeningly. "It draws attention away-"

"There's not a shred of evi-"

"It draws attention away from you and let's this administration do it's job," he interrupted again, this time more fervidly. "It's better this way."

"Dammit, Leo!" he exploded, slamming his hands on the desk. It shuddered from the intensity of his strike. "There's not one *reason* for them to be doing this, not one bit of substantiation for their claims! Your father killed himself! I was there right after it happened, I *heard* what the cops *said*, for Christ's sake!"

Leo regarded him quietly, averting his eyes somewhat when he saw Bartlet raise his head to look at him.

"Leo," he began softly. "Is there anything I need to know?"

"No," Leo answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Is there anything... is there anything you need to tell me?"

"No."

Bartlet stared at him for a long moment, taking in his awkward stance and furrowed brows. "Leo."

"Yeah?"

"What *really* happened that night?" His voice was neutral as he asked it, and he circled around to the front of the desk.

Leo slowly looked up at him; his hazel eyes, usually clear and hard, were now tempestuous. "You'd seen the bruises he left on Ma. On Josie, and Elizabeth."

He nodded slowly, eyeing him warily. "I saw the bruises on you, too, that night. And many nights before," he stated, his voice hushed and rough.

"I had to do something, Jed. I had to do something to protect 'em." He went on, his movements getting wider, voice getting harder, with every word. "I had to do something to protect my family, I couldn't just stand by and keep letting them get hurt." Running a shaky hand over the back of his head, he looked away again and said, "I, um... I had to do something."

"Leo," he murmured, half-pitying, half-chastising. "Why didn't you just call the police?"

"He *was* the police, remember?" McGarry bellowed. "The police knew what was going on, they knew how he treated us." He sat down on one of the caramel-striped couches with a heavy sigh. "They covered it up for us, though," he began quietly, staring down at the carpet. "Filed his... filed it as suicide, case closed. They couldn't do anything about it when he was alive, but they helped us out when he... when I... " He reached up and swiped a hand across his eyes quickly.

Bartlet poured a glass of water and set it down on the coffee table in front of Leo. His chief of staff took the glass and raised it to his lips, sipping slowly before bringing it back down again to be held lightly by both hands.

Staring down into the clear, cool liquid, he said, "You know, I didn't actually aim for him. I only wanted to, y'know, scare him." He watched as the liquid rippled as a tear hit its surface. "I didn't actually wanna... "

Taking the glass from Leo's faintly shaking hands before it had the chance to fall to the ground, Bartlet sat on the table, across from him. Putting the glass down, he reached over and thumbed away the tears Leo was ignoring.

"I'm gonna tell 'em to lay off," he said quietly.

Raising his head to meet Bartlet's eyes, McGarry stated quietly, "You'll do no such thing."

"Leo, why?" he groused. "Why won't you let me do this for you?"

"Because, as far as you know, my father shot himself in the head with a police-issue service revolver," Leo replied evenly. Standing up and heading for the door connecting their two offices, he added, "And that's the way it's gonna stay, sir. You and I never had this conversation, and if anybody asks, we were talking about the dinner you're going to."

Bartlet stood and called after him, "Leo."

"Hmm?" he replied, turning around at the door to face his oldest friend.

"Why do you keep his flag in your office?"

He turned his head to look at the closed door that still separated him from his office, looking almost as if he could see through it. Finally, he turned back to Bartlet. "Because," he began softly, "for all his faults, he was my father." He paused, looked away slightly. "He kept us fed, kept us clothed, put a roof over our heads. He was my father, and I was his son. For all his faults, I loved him." Looking back at Bartlet, he stated, "Don't make any phone calls, Mr. President. You and I never had this conversation. I'll see you when you get back from the dinner." He opened the door and shuffled back to his own office, closing the door behind him with a deafeningly loud click.

{**********}

"Donna!"

"Josh!"

He looked up at her, startled. "Why are you screaming at me?" he asked, standing frozen in front of his desk with papers in his hand and a confused expression on his face.

"No reason," Donna replied cheerfully, leaning into the doorway. "What do you want?"

"Some coffee?"

"Never."

"Then, do you have those notes I'd asked you to type up for me?"

She pulled the pages from behind her back. "Of course."

"Okay," he mumbled, taking them from her hand and heading out the door.

Glaring at him as he walked away, she called sarcastically, "You're welcome, Joshua."

He, of course, did not hear her, as he was already around the corner and making a beeline for the Oval Office. His watch sucked, and it wasn't until he looked up at the little clock on his computer screen instead of his watch that he realized he only had three minutes to get to his meeting with the President.

Absently, he wondered why Donna had let him hang like that.

"'Sup," he greeted Charlie, raising his eyebrows and jerking his chin up slightly in that novel way guys greet each other.

"With twenty seconds to spare," the younger man quipped dryly, opening the door to the Oval Office. "Mr. President, Josh is here to see you."

Bartlet stood up as Josh came in and Charlie left. "Come in, sit down," he ushered, walking to meet the younger man and guide him to the couch. "What do you have for me?"

"We can't get this money by noon," he sighed. "I'd need, like, at *least* another two days before we can arrange this to Senator Maddock's liking."

Bartlet nodded. "He wants ten million, right?"

"Yes, sir."

He sat down in the couch across from Josh. "1.5 million children were abused in 1993," he mused. "Last year, 1.9 million women were physically assaulted, 1.5 million of whom, not to mention 835,000 men, were sexually assaulted by their spouses or partners. Sixty percent of our prisoners are incarcerated on drug charges alone, and eighty-nine percent of our prisoners have some form of substance abuse problem." Breathing deeply, he regarded Josh thoughtfully. "Let's put this bill in the drawer. Find him his ten million, and we'll put it back out there."

"Yes, sir," he replied quietly.

Walking to his water pitcher, Bartlet asked, "Is Sam okay?"

"Sir?"

"I mean it just took him a while to get that speech out," he clarified, pouring himself some water.

"Ahh, he just had writer's block," Josh replied dismissively, downplaying Sam's situation for both Sam and Bartlet's benefit. "He got over it, though."

"That's good," he said, nodding. "Want some water?"

"No, thank you, sir. Sir?"

"Yeah?" He sipped the ice-water casually and regarded Josh.

"What made you change your mind about this bill?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, slightly confused.

"I mean, up until just now, you were telling us not to worry about Maddock's request if we couldn't fulfill it. Why the change of heart, sir?" he asked, curious.

He stared thoughtfully off to the side, his eyes settling on the door to Leo's office. "Just... thought about it some more. No reason, really." He sipped his water again and turned back to Josh. "Tell Sam his speech looks good."

"Yes, sir," Josh replied, turning to leave. "Have a nice trip."

"Thanks." He waited for the door to click shut. Then, he went back to his desk and started to look over the speech again, preparing for the day ahead.

{**********}

"It went well."

"Did it?"

"It did."

"I wasn't really paying attention."

"Don't give me that crap," Lionel snapped. "When we mentioned we have witnesses who'd vouch for you, *and* the actual reports themselves, Dupris backed down from this angle."

"Which means he'll just find something else. He'll tear into Abbey over the medication deal," Leo retorted. "I'd've rather had him tearing into me for a little while longer, we could've spun that and gotten the public tired of him."

"Oh, and what if he figured out he was right?" Lionel asked scathingly. Leo snapped his head around to stare at him, the city passing by through the car window a silent background to his subtly stunned expression. "What would we have done if he found out he wasn't just blowing steam? What then, Leo?"

Recovering quickly, Leo replied, "Then it would've become a bigger scandal than the MS. The press would smell fresh blood, they'd come after me instead of the President. Given the choice, Lionel, people would rather read about things like this than medical and legal details. It's a juicier story."

Lionel regarded him, taken aback. "Get your head out of your ass, Leo. If this broke, it would do nothing to help Bartlet. It would've hurt him even more. Called into question his ability to choose morally good staff members. Yeah, the press would follow you, but they wouldn't forget the President. They'd start playing connect the dots." Turning back to his own window, he added, "Besides, you're my client. I wouldn't have put you in that position to begin with. And he would have torn into Abbey anyway."

Leo sighed and turned to look outside; the limo had just pulled up to the White House. As the door opened, he said, "I'm gonna grab a quick lunch in the Mess. Care to join me?"

"Feh," Tribbey scoffed, smirking slightly. "You want me to go in there and eat that *slop* when there're perfectly good places near my apartment?"

"Good point," he replied with a tiny grin. "I'll see you." He walked into the building as the limo drove off again.

Lionel was right. It had gone well.

Leo McGarry walked up to his office with a purpose to his step, in better spirits than he'd been earlier that day. He nodded politely at the staffers who greeted him on the way, carried his briefcase easier than before.

Stopping by Margaret's office first, he asked, "Any messages while I was gone?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, picking up the small notes of paper. "Josh wants to see you at your first available moment."

"Before or after lunch?" he asked, hoping against hope that the answer was-

"Before."

"Damn." He frowned momentarily and asked, "What else?"

"The President would like for you to call him on Air Force One. Before," she added quickly, before he could ask the same question again.

He nodded his thanks and ambled into his office. Josh was already in it, making himself comfortable on Leo's couch, eating a tuna fish sandwich.

"Hey, Leo," he said, putting the sandwich down on a napkin and standing up. "How'd the deposition go?"

"Good, good," he answered truthfully, dropping his briefcase by his desk and glancing every now and then at the sandwich. "What do you need?"

"A little more mayo, actually," he stated, tossing a previously unseen saran-wrapped sandwich to Leo. "Actually, the President told me to put the bill in the drawer."

He abruptly stopped unwrapping the sandwich, and looked up at Josh, startled. "He did?"

"Yeah. Said he'd thought about it some more, decided Maddock was right." He shrugged and picked up his sandwich again. "So, we've got some more time to get the ten million."

Leo put the sandwich down on his desk and moved to sit down. "Josh... did he mention-" He closed his mouth, and shook his head, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Never mind."

"Ahkay. Um, that's it from me," he said before taking a big bite out of his sandwich.

"Get out. You're dropping crumbs all over my carpet." He chuckled softly as the younger man left. The chuckle faded into silence as his gaze moved from the sandwich to the phone.

Picking up the reciever, he dialed the direct line to the President's plane.

"Hello?"

"Sir. How's the flight?"

"Boring," he replied, clearly meaning it. "I put the bill in the drawer."

"Josh told me, sir," Leo affirmed quietly.

"Mm." There was an audible pause before he went on. "How'd it go today?"

"It went well," Leo answered quickly. "He, uh... " He tapped a beat out on the reciever with his index finger. "Lionel got him to lay off."

"That's good," Bartlet said. "That's... Leo, are we gonna talk about this?"

"Huh?" he asked, furrowing his brows at the sudden change of topic.

"I mean, it's kinda hanging over our heads like Damocles' sword," Bartlet explained. "I'd like to talk about it."

"The deposition?" Leo asked, slightly confused.

"Your father," he clarified, his voice sounding fake and distant over the somewhat tinny connection.

He sucked the inside of his bottom lip out of nervous habit, and sagged against the large chair. "Concentrate on your speech, sir. We'll talk when you get back."

"I just want to know if you're okay."

"I'd *be* okay if you'd let me eat my lunch," he retorted lightly.

"What're you having? I just had something they tried to pass for clam chowder, they said it's New Orleans style-"

"Sir?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really fine."

Again, there was a pause that filled the space between them. "You sure?"

"May I eat, sir?" he growled out good-naturedly.

There was a chuckle on the other end. "I'll see you in a few days, Leo."

"Arright. Goodbye, Mr. President." He hung up the phone; his hand lingered momentarily on the handset as a slight coolness descended over his office.

After a moment, he let his fingers slip away from the black phone, and took a deep breath. With his deposition over for now, and for the foreseeable future, he could start doing his actual job again. The sandwich lay forgotten on his desk; later, he would, inevitably, grab a bag of chips from the snack machine. Margaret would snarkily mother-hen him, he'd roll his eyes at her. It would be business as usual.

In the meantime, he immersed himself in work as per normal, ignoring the slight pang in his belly and the stinging gaze that his father's flag was boring into his back.

-end-


End file.
